


Trembling, Between Heartbeats Waiting

by sanerontheinside



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: (well. probably), Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Qui-Gon lives au, Shmi Skywalker - Freeform, Undercover Missions, Undercover as Married, Unresolved Sexual Tension, anakin skywalker - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 00:48:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17652824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanerontheinside/pseuds/sanerontheinside
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn are assigned a joint mission for the first time since Obi-Wan's Knighting. Due to the sensitive nature of the mission, they must travel undercover. Apparently the security forces providing them with their cover story found it expedient to pass them off as a married couple.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meggory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meggory/gifts), [jessebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/gifts).



> Bits and pieces have been published over on tumbls—but the problem with those bits, as usual, is that they're the bits that wrote themselves. Which, actually, isn't the problem; the problem is the transition bits that refuse to write themselves. 
> 
> I wouldn't know an update schedule if it bit me, for which I apologise :|

 

One thing he knew for certain, Obi-Wan reflected as his shuttle made the final approach to a Temple landing platform, was that Qui-Gon and Anakin were currently on Coruscant. That was good. That was a relief. Anakin was worried about his upcoming exams, which Obi-Wan couldn’t blame him for and would be happy to help with. Qui-Gon was currently between missions—though the Council wouldn't necessarily await the end of Anakin’s exam term to assign one.

It was an almost silently agreed-upon rule that with Masters with Padawans on exam rotations were not sent out on very dangerous solo missions. There were exceptions, of course, as to any rule, but they were rare. The most dangerous solo assignments went to seasoned Masters, often with (or without) one foot in the Shadow; tedious, but not overtly dangerous solo assignments went to young Knights, who had the pool of ‘worst’ missions—usually hopeless, century-long brewing conflicts of the passive-aggressive sort or missions with poorly defined time constraints and badly-supplied intel.

There were also the missions that went to Knights with exceptional, and very particular skills. Obi-Wan had been handling those for the better part of the last year, which seemed to impress the Council every time. They were taxing assignments, sometimes lengthy. He’d been absent from the Temple for a half-year for his last round. It wasn’t the longest time he’d been away from the Temple by far, but then he hadn’t been on his own. He missed Qui-Gon, and Anakin, and some days he’d even missed the Commissary.

That had been, undeniably, a very low point.

At the moment, he mostly missed sleep. Quite a bit, actually, if the fact that he’d walked right to his former Master’s quarters was any indication. He paused for a moment, trying to bring his head back into gear—he needed to actually remember  _ where _ he lived now to get there, and—

The door slid open. Obi-Wan realised his eyes had fallen closed, and tried to pry them open again, which only gave him an unfocused image of a large shape framed in daylight. “Hello, Qui-Gon,” he said, or tried to say, and found that Qui-Gon had already moved. An arm was thrown across his shoulders and he was gently directed into the suite.

“Obi-Wan, you can’t meditate your way through a week’s worth of sleep. Anakin tried it recently. He’ll tell you all about it, to remind you of the lesson—won’t you, Ani?”

Obi-Wan smiled slightly at the sound of a half-amused, half-dejected ‘Yes, Master’ and let himself be steered to the couch with only a minor complaint. “My boots,” he muttered uselessly, and was immediately shushed and pushed down into soft, familiar cushions.

“Home sweet couch,” he sighed, and felt a wash of gentle laughter just before he passed out.  
  


* * *

  
Obi-Wan next opened his eyes to diffuse, golden late-evening light playing over the common room. He blinked, confused, thinking he must have returned not long after midday, and slept for an unexpectedly long time. Then he frowned, brain catching up to the realisation that he wasn’t in his quarters. The angle of the light was all wrong.

With a soft groan, he pushed himself up and swung his—bare—feet down to the soft carpet of the floor, and grimaced. His head felt full of cotton, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. Someone’s arm held out a cup of tea for him within his field of vision, and Obi-Wan accepted with a grateful nod.

“I commed Mace and told him where you were,” Qui-Gon said, settling down next to him. “He agreed to postpone the debrief until tomorrow morning.”

Obi-Wan only managed to form words again after he’d downed half the tea. “Thank you,” he said, voice still sleep-rough, and hid his face in the mug again.

“You’re welcome.” His former Master was apparently taking his unexpected appearance in good humour. One broad hand was rubbing slow circles over Obi-Wan’s back, and it felt wonderful. “I take it your return trip was eventful?”

Obi-Wan snorted faintly into the steaming dregs of his tea. “That’s putting it mildly. There was some last-minute schedule change at the Temple hangar, apparently—they sent me a patchwork of repairs held together mostly by rust and not meant for distant travel. Spent most of the trip in a suit wondering if the next system to blink out would finally leave us stranded in empty space, or put us right into a planet.”

Qui-Gon gripped his shoulder tightly for a moment, then went back to rubbing circles into his back.

“Well, I'm glad you're here,” he said.

Obi-Wan grinned. “So am I. I miss taking missions with you, Master. You always got the better transports.”

“If my next transport falls victim to a scheduling mishap, Obi-Wan, I’m blaming you.”

“Noted.”

“Dinner?”

Obi-Wan looked up, surprised. “Qui-Gon, you didn't have to—”

“Oh, you have something in your quarters, then?” Qui-Gon asked slyly. “Or would you prefer the commissary—”

“No!” Obi-Wan said quickly, laughing. “No, no, that's fine, I just—I don't want to be—well, I wouldn't want to impose—”

“Padawan,” Qui-Gon growled, still failing to hide the fact that he was, apparently, quite pleased with himself. “It's not an imposition; Anakin misses you.  _ I’ve _ missed you, and we're not letting you get away without fixing this state of affairs. I've even ordered your favourite, Shmi’s taken Anakin to fetch it.”

Obi-Wan gave him a sharp grin. “Bribery, Master Jinn?”

“Perhaps,” Qui-Gon admitted easily, and without an instant’s hesitation. “The last time I got to have dinner with you, it was ration bars in the middle of a swamp, you'll forgive me if I'd prefer something a little more dry and perhaps a touch more conducive to light conversation.”

The playful,  familiar tone made Obi-Wan’s heart skip a little. He quashed  the feeling ruthlessly. “Yes, well, not being tracked by rebels is an excellent place to start,” he said.

“And here I thought it was the ration bars,” Qui-Gon quipped without losing a beat. “I’d guess you want to freshen up before dinner?”

“How much time have I got?”

“I’d say about half an hour.”

Obi-Wan nodded, getting up and stretching. “Good enough. Are we expecting anyone besides Anakin and Shmi?”

“Not tonight,” Qui-Gon told him. “Tahl discovered a fifteenth-century manuscript, I don’t think we’ll be seeing her for the next week at the very least. Micah is making sure she doesn’t forget to eat.”

“Well, then. Don’t wait for me if I’m late.”

Qui-Gon gave him a very pointed look. “There won’t be anything left, so don’t be late.”

Obi-Wan smiled brightly at his former Master and headed off for his quarters. Qui-Gon was right, of course—Anakin was growing like a weed, and leftovers were generally a thing of the past. Obi-Wan’s thoughts lingered wistfully on a long, hot shower, but that could wait until morning, anyway. Dinner at Qui-Gon’s quarters had become something of a tradition, probably because Tahl had all but dragged Obi-Wan along with her any time he'd been in-Temple that first year of his Knighthood. Qui-Gon had always brightened at the sight of him, Anakin had always been ecstatic at the sight of his brother-Padawan… and Obi-Wan missed them both terribly.

He'd never thought much of it before, but the constant mission assignments were isolating at best. Qui-Gon had once said that Obi-Wan had been very much his equal partner in the final years of his apprenticeship. Privately Obi-Wan thought, still, that his Master no longer quite registered the myriad minutiae of his role. Qui-Gon reviewed the schedule of the security detail, spoke with their captains, coordinated with them and took in the lay of the land while his apprentice merely had to keep up with mission background and pertinent customs, language, and legalities—which Qui-Gon  _ already _ knew.

The Padawan’s role certainly hadn’t been small. Qui-Gon’s role had been all but invisible.

Qui-Gon had managed their image as Jedi, and the expectations officials had of them, as well. On his solo assignments, Obi-Wan had been met with everything from wariness to suspicion to outright fear; he’d had to soothe unease and present himself as, well, someone who could be trusted to act in the best interests of the people. Many seasoned politicians could barely manage that much. Some people seemed to think of Jedi as beings above the base requirements of living, others thought them all-knowing. Obi-Wan couldn’t really settle on which was worse. Jedi mysticism often came in handy—except for, of course, the obvious downside: it was lonely work, even on worlds long familiar with the Order’s assistance.

Tahl hadn’t had to put up with much of a fight from him after all.

Qui-Gon had been happy to commiserate with him, and happy to distract Obi-Wan with difficulties of his own. Apparently teaching advanced elective courses in diplomacy and sector law to Senior Padawans was a thankless pursuit.

What difficulties Qui-Gon didn't tell him of, Obi-Wan figured out for himself. It hadn't taken him very long to realise, for example, that his Master was afraid he'd never see fieldwork again. Thus any time that Obi-Wan was in the Temple, he found himself with plenty to do: he sparred with Qui-Gon until his Master was running him ragged around the sallés again; he helped Ani with additional lessons and drills; he assisted with Qui-Gon’s course load when necessary. He sat with them when they couldn't sleep. They did the same for him.

Two years later, Qui-Gon was back on the mission roster and their time in the Temple did not often overlap. Obi-Wan prized the times when it did.

He’d been thinking, lately, about asking Qui-Gon if he would like to take partner-missions with him. Obi-Wan still had no idea how to voice the question, and really it wasn’t exactly up to him. But they’d made a good team in the past, and he worked well with Anakin…

Obi-Wan had been so deeply engrossed in that thought that he’d nearly walked into the Padawan in question. Instead, Anakin had twisted round at the last moment, and Obi-Wan found himself walking into a near-lethal stranglehold by an excited little brother Padawan. By the time he'd put his brain back in his skull, Shmi was laughing at them both.

“Hello Ani,” Obi-Wan huffed, squeezing back. “How are you?”

“Wizard!” Anakin told his robes, then looked up at Obi-Wan. “I got top score in my astronav class,” he grinned.

“Very good, Ani, I'm proud of you,” Obi-Wan laughed, squeezing Anakin’s shoulder. “Now: was it worth not sleeping for a week?”

Shmi was biting back a smile with some effort, and Anakin had the grace to blush. “I sort of wish Qui-Gon hadn’t told you,” he said, sounding faintly embarrassed.  

“Oh, that's all right,” Obi-Wan knelt down in front of him, “it's a time-honoured tradition. Most Padawans don't run into this sort of trouble for another two years, but then, you  _ are _ taking advanced level courses. You've done a lot in a short time, Anakin. The sooner you learn to handle the stress that comes with exams and our Master’s unusual mission schedule, the better you'll be able to manage it later.”

Anakin eyed him dubiously for a moment, though all signs of the earlier embarrassment had gone, at least. “ _ Most _ Padawans. Obi-Wan?”

“Hm?”

“When did you start?”

“Oh, if memory serves, about six months into his apprenticeship.”

Obi-Wan looked up sharply, unsurprised to see his Master leaning against his doorway and looking on, amused. “Honestly, Qui-Gon,” he sighed, getting up and rolling his eyes dramatically. “There you go, giving away all my secrets. How am I supposed to serve as a good example to my brother Padawan here if you tell him everything?”

Anakin giggled.

Qui-Gon remained utterly unruffled. He only smiled and said, “Payback, Knight Kenobi. You told him about that incident on Vallas IX.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan made a show of thinking about it a moment, then grimaced. “Fair point, well made. Dinner?”

Shmi laughed and handed off the food to Qui-Gon as he grinned and stepped aside, letting all of them them in. “I was still right about Vallas IX,” Obi-Wan muttered out of the corner of his mouth, and danced away from Qui-Gon’s half-hearted swat.

  


* * *

  
  
Qui-Gon had, indeed, remembered Obi-Wan’s favourite. The spicy noodles were excellent, the vegetables crisp and dripping in savoury sauce. When Qui-Gon waved off the container of noodles, claiming that the spice burned his eyes from half a room away, Anakin proved to be Obi-Wan’s enthusiastic accomplice, and dug into the noodles with gusto. Shmi shook her head at them both, keeping to the vegetables and rak meat—though, Obi-Wan was amused to note, she added enough hot sauce to the meat to rival the noodles. Qui-Gon did the same. 

They had mercy on Anakin and didn't tease him over dinner. Instead, Obi-Wan told them of his last mission, which—thankfully—hadn't been nearly as exciting as his return trip. Qui-Gon brought him up to speed on the Senate’s most recent debates and resolutions, and Shmi steered the conversation away from politics before anyone could dwell too long on the disappointment. Unfortunately, the Temple’s financial matters weren't entirely reassuring either, given that the Appropriations Committee was seriously discussing cutting the Order’s funding again.

“We've had a good quarter,” Shmi said, “but if they're serious about cutting funds again, the Order will suffer for it. We need to—to fund ourselves, somehow.”

Qui-Gon leaned back, thoughtful. “Parts of the Order do fund themselves. AgriCorps submitted one hundred different patents between the two of them last year.”

“A  _ hundred _ ?” Anakin gaped at him. “That's so many!”

“Ah, but most of those are genetic modifications,” Obi-Wan pointed out. “They don't pay as much as, say, a mechanical alteration would. I don't remember the last time our MechCorps submitted anything to the patent office.”

“But they don't make anything new,” Anakin frowned.

“Oftentimes improving something old is as good as making something new,” Qui-Gon explained. “The patent office doesn't pay as much for it, but the majority of their submissions are just that—improvements.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “And on the rare occasion that this modification can be put in production at no additional cost—if it cuts production costs, so much the better—one might even sell it back to the company that made the original. Not that Sienar has ever been especially welcoming of such modifications.”

“I heard they lost a factory recently,” Qui-Gon mused, eyeing Obi-Wan with particular interest.

Obi-Wan backpedaled very quickly. “I had nothing to do with that. Ask Tachi.”

After dinner, Anakin was sent off to study in the main room. Shmi went with him, and Obi-Wan grinned when he saw her settle in beside Anakin to listen to a lengthy review of Republic legislative procedures for new Republic members. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon fell into a companionable silence, cleaning up after dinner in a long-established rhythm. Obi-Wan washed, Qui-Gon dried, and when they were done Qui-Gon turned his attention to the kettle while Obi-Wan went after the tea. He tried not to eavesdrop too obviously on Anakin’s studies, but he was curious—and quickly impressed.

“Well, he certainly has the intricacies of that particular process down,” Obi-Wan murmured.

“Quite,” Qui-Gon agreed, eyeing the kettle. “Finis spent the last cycle terribly bored, so he took up a teaching rotation at the university.”

“Ah.” Obi-Wan winced. “How did that go, then?”

Qui-Gon shrugged. “Mixed. His publicity had taken a series of bad hits throughout the end of his term, and these last two years have seen plenty of snide commentary on his policies and deals—he does make a fine scapegoat. There were some student protests, but it’s Finis. He always did have a good hand charming the university crowd. Anakin has been a test subject of sorts for his lecture plans.”

Obi-Wan almost laughed. “They must be excellent lectures, then—I’m almost jealous. Lytton has a judiciary system that’s nearly best ranked in the Core, and it’s complicated stuff. That is a  _ very _ advanced elective course.”

“Mm.” Qui-Gon was leaning against the kitchen counter, watching Obi-Wan pour the tea. “It is also notable for being the first sector to institute laws and programs for refugees and former slaves, as well—which have been used as a model in other sectors since then, including Alderaan and, just recently, Naboo.”

“You’re plotting, Master,” Obi-Wan accused, grinning.

“Always. In truth, it’s a good exercise for him. I might have miscalculated, considering his workload this term, but it turns out we’ve been keeping up quite well, even on mission rotations.” Qui-Gon shrugged again, with a put-upon sigh. “He’ll never take to diplomacy, I’m afraid. But so long as he knows the laws well enough to brute-force any situation where diplomacy fails, I’m not worried. I’m  _ less _ worried,” he amended at Obi-Wan's pointed look.

Obi-Wan took two cups out to the main room for Shmi and Anakin, then wandered back (still shamelessly eavesdropping) when Qui-Gon seemed inclined to stay in the kitchen. He was going to say something, something else about the classes Anakin was taking, something about how comfortable Shmi was here in the Temple. Instead, when he met Qui-Gon’s eyes over the rim of his mug, he stuttered, and completely forgot what it was he’d meant to say.

Qui-Gon was looking at him strangely. Or, well, that look sent a shiver down Obi-Wan’s spine, and he had no idea what to make of it. “Something wrong?”

Qui-Gon shook his head. “I like the beard,” he said after a moment, reaching out to turn Obi-Wan’s head just a little with gentle fingers, as though for a better look. His eyes didn’t leave Obi-Wan’s. “Suits you. Are you thinking of keeping it?”

“Uh…” Obi-Wan said intelligently, feeling his face flush at the compliment. He hadn’t had time to shave it before dinner, and now of course he didn’t want to. “Might. Should probably trim it.”

Qui-Gon hummed, and leaned back against the counter, looking unfairly pleased with himself. “When Dooku saw me after my first mission rotation, I think he couldn’t decide what to focus his ire on—the hair or the beard.”

Oh—well, Obi-Wan thought, that explained that. “Then, I take it, I meet with your approval?”

Qui-Gon grinned brightly. “Completely, Obi-Wan. For all you look as though you could use a bit more sleep.”

“Don’t think I’ll be able to sleep anymore tonight,” Obi-Wan said, and put down his tea with a quiet, contented sigh. “Your couch works wonders.”

Qui-Gon, for some reason, glanced away and cleared his throat. “You’re welcome to it any time, you know.”

Unless Obi-Wan was very much mistaken, Qui-Gon was blushing.

“Are you all right?”

“What? Oh—fine.”

Qui-Gon smiled quickly, but Obi-Wan met it with a small, concerned frown. If he knew his Master, Qui-Gon hadn’t had much mercy to spare Anakin for his misadventure with sleeping habits, and had been doing his best to stick to routine—which meant rising at an obscenely early hour, as far as Padawan Kenobi had been concerned. Obi-Wan could well imagine how Anakin felt.

But it was also late, and in order to keep to his schedule, Qui-Gon would be starting his evening routine soon.

“I should leave you be, I think,” Obi-Wan said, smiling. “You’ve probably had a long day, and it’s getting late.”

“Not at all, although I expect the Council will probably want to see you early for debriefing. Obi-Wan—”

Qui-Gon hesitated, much to Obi-Wan’s surprise.

“What is it?”

Whatever it was he’d been thinking of, Qui-Gon seemed to have dismissed it in the next instant. “I should have just given you that couch,” he said instead.

“Where would I put it, in that Knights’ shoebox?” Obi-Wan laughed. “Besides, this way I have an excuse to drop in on you any time.”

“I hope you know you don’t need excuses.”

Obi-Wan had been aiming for lightness, but Qui-Gon was completely, startlingly serious. He didn’t allow himself a moment’s thought to reconsider, simply crossed the space between them and wrapped his arms around his former Master. The gesture was probably more reassuring than any words could be—at least Obi-Wan hoped it was. Certainly it was easier.

“Careful, Master,” Obi-Wan said, “you’ve just given me an opening to settle right back into living here full time.”

“I wouldn’t mind. Anakin is difficult enough to keep up with on a good day,” Qui-Gon said. “Things are—better, when you’re here.”

Qui-Gon cleared his throat, almost awkwardly. 

Obi-Wan was beginning to doubt that his embrace was at all welcome; his Master had been very open with physical affection, at least when it was just them. But just as that doubt began to creep in, the stiff set of Qui-Gon’s spine loosened. The Jedi Master wrapped his arms around Obi-Wan and squeezed gently. 

“I’ve missed you,” he added quietly, breathed into Obi-Wan’s hair—into his very soul. 

Obi-Wan shivered. 

Qui-Gon eased back and eyed him with concern. “You know, I rather think you need a bit more rest.” 

“Not a bad idea,” Obi-Wan agreed quickly, immensely grateful that Qui-Gon had given him an easy way out. “I’ll, uh—see you tomorrow? Sparring, maybe?” 

Inside his head a tiny voice was yammering angrily about what a stupid idea that was, but Obi-Wan wasn’t listening. 

He certainly wasn’t listening when Qui-Gon  _ smiled _ at him, like Obi-Wan had given him something that made the whole day worth smiling about. 

“Why not,” he rumbled, “I do miss your fire. I’m covering a class in the morning, but I am free at eleven-hundred. That should give you some time to catch up on sleep, as well.” 

“Excellent,” Obi-Wan said, like his heart wasn’t beating against his ribs trying to get free. With a wide happy grin and that full-chest breathless feeling buoying him up, he bid Qui-Gon, Anakin, and Shmi goodnight, and floated all the way back to his quarters on the other side of the Temple. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Are we both here to see the Council, then?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Qui-Gon nodded. “It would appear so. Another mission assignment, you think?”_
> 
>  
> 
> _Obi-Wan frowned thoughtfully at the floor. “With Anakin on exam rotation? And an early morning summons, at that. Sounds like they couldn't get anyone else for the job.”_
> 
> _“Don't spoil the surprise,” Qui-Gon grumbled, much to Obi-Wan’s amusement._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May the fourth be with you ^_^

 

Qui-Gon never had warmed up to Council summons at oh-five-hundred hours. This one, at least, didn’t require his Padawan’s presence. He’d read the message with an eye half-shut, grumbled out something like a word of gratitude mixed with a note of complaint, dropped his comm and hid his face back in the pillow with a long and heartfelt sigh.

It was better with a Padawan, he found himself thinking later, as he watched his tea steep with a bleary, baleful eye. He’d missed the sleep-fuzzy reluctant shuffling. It filled him with an odd but quiet joy, watching a Padawan who hadn’t lived through enough of these early summonses yet to quell the involuntary physical complaint of their morning slouch, the morose set of their sleep-furrowed brow. Paradoxically, for all the company made Qui-Gon feel less alone in his morning surliness, it also served to wake him up far more quickly and softened his dire mood. Misery shared was misery halved, and all that.

So it was a joyful moment when Qui-Gon reached the Council antechamber and found Obi-Wan already waiting there. Qui-Gon bit back a smile at the sight of him, sharp-eyed and glaring at the heavy doors. The Council summons had likely disturbed a bit of much-needed rest.

The glare vanished the instant Obi-Wan sensed his approach. A quick change smoothed away the furrow in Obi-Wan’s brow and turned up the corners of his mouth; the fire in his eyes softened to a welcoming glow that warmed Qui-Gon to his toes.

“Are we both here to see the Council, then?”

Qui-Gon nodded. “It would appear so. Another mission assignment, you think?”

Obi-Wan frowned thoughtfully at the floor. “With Anakin on exam rotation? And an early morning summons, at that. Sounds like they couldn't get anyone else for the job.”

“Don't spoil the surprise,” Qui-Gon grumbled, much to Obi-Wan’s amusement.

“You were hoping for something peaceful for once?” Obi-Wan teased. “Ratification of environmental protection accords for a luxury resort, facing potential climate disturbance from the tourist business that keeps the planet running in the first place? Such a delicate negotiation…”

It was a very convincing recitation. Worse, Obi-Wan’s humour was manic with a hint of exhaustion, and it was catching. Qui-Gon shushed him, hanging on to his composure by a thin thread. “You know, I think structuring such agreements usually goes to Masters in the Agricorps.”

Obi-Wan grinned. “Now, if only I’d known _that_ ten years ago. 

Qui-Gon’s chest tightened suddenly. It wasn't serious, he knew, but still—“I find myself very glad you didn't.”

Obi-Wan gave him an odd look, and Qui-Gon thought he would have spoken—but of course at that moment the doors of the Council chamber slid open and a bleary-eyed Council Padawan waved them in. Qui-Gon wasn't sure he wanted to hear the reply, anyway. Another offhand quip, he wouldn't have found particularly reassuring. He couldn't even rightly say what had bothered him in the first place.

Qui-Gon turned his attention to the currents in the Council chamber, instead, which were plenty distracting. The mood wasn’t precisely tense, but more charged with intrigue and tasting of delicate manipulation. Qui-Gon frowned. That didn't necessarily bode well.

Obi-Wan's end of their pair bond prickled with muted, but rather definite suspicion. They were in agreement on that, then. Where the Council was concerned, intrigue almost always meant trouble—and Senate polítics, probably.

“Good morning,” Mace said, setting a brisk and businesslike tone as only someone who’d been awake for at least an hour could do. Qui-Gon caught the distinct impression of a scowl from Obi-Wan’s end of the bond, and bit back a smile. “The Council has recently been approached by a Senator from Akath’im with an interesting request.”

Qui-Gon nearly choked on air.

Akath’im was a resort world. Moreover, it was reasonably distant, a favourite hideaway for retired Core-world politicians—and it was currently desperate for an agreement that would allow the Akathi to regulate the amount of traffic they received, in hopes of limiting environmental damage.

 _Obi-Wan?_ Qui-Gon sent along their bond, almost in a growl.

 _Believe me, I had no idea._ Obi-Wan did sound completely flabbergasted and sincere.

 _You’re not allowed to say another word about the mission_ or _the transport,_ Qui-Gon told him crossly. He was beginning to suspect that Obi-Wan’s prescience had taken to a particularly wicked presentation of late, cropping up in harmless jokes and offhand comments. Qui-Gon didn’t actually want any proof to substantiate that particular idea, and he rather hoped it hadn’t crossed Obi-Wan’s mind, either.

“Akathi Intelligence suspects some of its candidates in the Senatorial race may have been influenced by their corporate connections, or by the local cartels—they’re not particularly happy with either possibility,” Mace went on. “It has recently come to their attention that several of the candidates have booked seats on an intragalactic cruise line, along with people who might be connected with the cartels, and to the businesses with the highest stakes in the upcoming climate accord negotiations. They requested our assistance in determining which, if any, of the candidates have significant ties to parties who may be inclined to influence the final shape of this agreement.”

“I wasn’t aware of the Akathi approaching the Senate. Not since their petition to negotiate the environmental accords was granted, at any rate,” Obi-Wan remarked.

“Which is what adds a level of delicacy to this mission,” Ki-Adi spoke up. “It is unlikely that the venture would ever have the proper backing of the Senate, due to the involvement of the guilds, but it does have the quiet backing of several influential Senators. With their support, the incumbent Akathi Senator was granted an exception and allowed to approach the Jedi Council directly. Of course, Senator Selliaht stressed the need for discretion.”

Qui-Gon nearly winced. “So this will be an undercover mission.”

“Quite so,” Mace confirmed. “You will be coordinating with the Akathi Intelligence Head of Operations, Nami Madleth, who is here to provide both of you with more technical details, and with your cover story. She will meet you at 0600 in the Jenth-level hangar. The cruise is two tens’ duration, and the Akathi would prefer the matter resolved before the candidates return.”

 _Amazing,_ Obi-Wan muttered, _how a popular resort world is granted an exception and allowed to approach the Council directly._

 _Surprised?_ Aloud, Qui-Gon said, “My Padawan is currently in the midst of his exam term. Is there a role for him in this mission, or has the Council decided on other accommodations for the duration?” _At least it plays a minor enough role in galactic politics that its people can sway the Senate to act directly in their favour._

Obi-Wan sent back a touch of rueful agreement.

Depa cleared her throat gently. “Your Padawan’s accommodations have been finalised, Master Jinn. His exam term has been extended, in favour of spreading out assessments and assignments in a manner less likely to convince young Skywalker that sleep is a worthy sacrifice.” She eyed Obi-Wan at that, but he only offered her a politely bland expression in return. “This mission fits the time frame for your in-Temple rotation, and Knight Kenobi’s return was fortuitous.”

Mace nodded. “And I discussed this arrangement with Lady Skywalker earlier this morning. Now: do you understand the assignment? Do you have any qualms about working with each other? Take issue with any parameter of this mission? Now is your chance to speak.”

Qui-Gon exchanged a glance with his former Padawan and found a look of barely-suppressed glee in the Knight’s eyes that warmed his heart. Oh, he’d _missed_ this, missed Obi-Wan and his infectious joy.

“No objections,” Obi-Wan answered for them both.

“Good,” Mace said, just as brusquely as he had begun, and closed off the meeting as always: “Background information will be forwarded to your comms within the hour. In the meantime please proceed to the Jenth-eight hangar to meet with Lady Madleth, who will help you establish your identity and cover stories.”

 

* * *

  


Once outside the Council chambers—and in the lift, and heading down to the lower levels, because one never discussed a mission just outside the chambers (lest the Council called you back in and said it was all a big mistake)—Obi-Wan turned to his former Master and whispered conspiratorially, eyes glittering, “A luxury _resort world,_ I can’t believe it.”

Qui-Gon feigned dredging up a put-upon sigh. “Well, I suppose it’ll have to do,” he groused, but a smile slipped through all the same.

Obi-Wan snorted. “You _always_ get the best assignments, Master.”

“Imp.” Qui-Gon nudged him gently with an elbow. “Don’t borrow trouble. I hear you’ve impressed the Council, and they’re considering promoting you early.”

Obi-Wan peered at him, suspicious. “Promote how?”

“Paired missions. You’ve been on your own for three years now, and you have a sterling record,” Qui-Gon said, not even bothering to tamp down the rush of warm pride he felt at the thought.

Obi-Wan ducked his head, blushing behind the fall of his hair. “Not entirely sure I’d call that ‘sterling’,” he demurred.

“Mission assignments are very formulaic, Obi-Wan, and don’t often have bearing on the situation, as you well know. You did the job you had to do,” Qui-Gon said, firm but gently insistent, “if not necessarily the one that had been handed to you.”

The blush intensified, turning the tips of Obi-Wan’s ears a delightful red. “You’ve been reading up on me,” he mumbled.

“Of course I have.” Qui-Gon smiled, helpless against the urge to push that fall of ginger hair back behind Obi-Wan’s ears and gently nudge his chin up. “Well done, Padawan. You’ve made your old Master very proud.”

“Not old, Master,” Obi-Wan said, voice clear and full of quiet certainty.

Then Obi-Wan finally looked up at him, and Qui-Gon was lost in those wide sea-glass eyes.

The chime of the lift broke the moment—dashed a fragile, spun-glass, breathless instant irretrievably into pieces, before Qui-Gon could even grasp what potential that moment might have held. He couldn’t quantify the sense of _almost,_ the sense of loss as Obi-Wan’s expression turned shuttered when Qui-Gon let his hand fall away. Obi-Wan stepped back, and Qui-Gon, regretfully, turned towards the doors as they slid open.

They wove through a handful of chattering Padawans and headed for the Jenth-eight hangar, in silence, because Qui-Gon hadn’t the faintest idea how to recover the ground he’d lost.

“So…” Qui-Gon cleared his throat. “Have you given any thought to who you might work with?”

He instantly wished he hadn’t said a thing; the question was practically equivalent to jumping out of the frying pan and into the proverbial fire. What if he didn’t like the answer? He knew exactly what he wanted to hear, but—

“Well, I don’t know,” said Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon glanced at him, surprised. “You haven’t thought about it?”

The Knight shrugged. “It’s just earlier than I’d expected. I rather thought I’d be pulling solo assignments until Anakin passed his Trials,” admitted Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon huffed, amused. “Not that long, surely. You’re selling yourself short, as always.”

Obi-Wan’s snort was a conservative yet eloquent reply.

“Still, I find I am rather looking forward to this assignment,” Obi-Wan said, as they approached the hangar bay. “I have missed working with you.”

The words sent a thrill through Qui-Gon’s heart. “As have I, Obi-Wan. There’s no one I’d rather work with.”

“Oh, _do_ say that again where Anakin can hear it,” Obi-Wan said lightly. “I’d like to see his face.”

“You are a terrible brother,” Qui-Gon chided him through startled laughter.

“I do believe that is the point of siblings.”

They lapsed into a companionable silence as they walked the rest of the way to the hangar. Well—perhaps not completely comfortable: Qui-Gon felt that there was something lingering unsaid between them, something elusive. It was like an itch in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t pin it down.

But that was all right, he supposed, because in the next moment they met the head of Senator Selliaht’s security, and she was an individual who commanded complete attention. He would devote more thought to this mystery later.

Nami Madleth was a small woman, her compact frame mindful of a gymnast or an acrobat. She gave the impression of a coiled spring, full of pent-up energy, only a fraction of it leaking out in the form of a brisk, business-like manner. Competent, certainly.

“The intragalactic cruise line starts out in the Core band, and spirals out to eventually reach Akath’im,” she told them. “Passing through Alderaan, Spira, Cato Neimoidia, and Dorumaa. You will be joining the cruise on the third stop, on Alderaan. The majority of passengers board there—some sixty percent—so you’ll blend right in.”

Qui-Gon accepted the packet she handed him—ident cards, along with some extras. He passed one of the cards over to Obi-Wan and glanced down at his own in passing. The ident card was for an Alderaani citizen, which certainly fit the cover story so far.

“And these,” Madleth added, “are the people you’ll be looking for.”

She passed them both sleek dark-blue folders. Obi-Wan immediately flipped his open and went straight to the text. Qui-Gon eyed the flatpics with mild interest. A few of the faces were candidates for the Senatorial race, and a few of them were the more prominent criminal elements of Akath-im—though most of them specialised in fraud and tax evasion these days.

But the more interesting part of the folio held an overview of influential corporate sponsors and their ‘right hand men’—fixers, couriers, and go-betweens. All people who might conceivably be sent on a cruise to negotiate a backroom deal with a prospective Senator.

It was a very good list, as far as Qui-Gon could tell. The sense of quiet approval from Obi-Wan confirmed it.

“We will be providing you with a designated escape vehicle aboard the cruise line. Most of the standard escape vehicles are shuttlecraft with fairly minimal engine power and fuel capacity, good enough for atmospheric re-entry, or for hanging out in space long enough to be rescued. This,” Nami waved at the shuttle behind her, “is a bit more powerful, and if you need to give chase—she’s not perfect, but she won’t let you down. She has limited weaponry, but can fire a probe that will tag a tracker onto your target. We’ve had a pretty solid success rate with the trackers—over ninety percent if fired within the hyperspace window, even. You’ll need to encode your palm prints to open the hatch and disengage docking clamps, and the shuttle is marked Priority transport—you will not be stopped or questioned at any port of entry, and in the event of an emergency only you have access to the shuttle.”

_Um, Qui-Gon…?_

Qui-Gon missed Lady Madleth’s explanation as to precisely how this shuttle would end up on the cruise ship, instantly alert to the not-quite-worried note in the bond. _Yes?_

_What’s the name on your ident card?_

_Kai St-John. Pronounced ‘sin-jin’, old Alderaanian name. Why?_

Obi-Wan passed back his ident card.

“Ah…”

Lady Madleth stopped and gave them an impatient look. “Is there a problem?”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Obi-Wan said, in a tone that only hinted at an undercurrent of testy. “No one informed us we’d be, well, married.”

“Yes—you’ll forgive me, I hope, but this is a bit unusual, and even a bit of a limiting cover,” Qui-Gon put in. “It’s not exactly like we’ll be able to get any closer to them than friendly eavesdropping neighbours might.”

Madleth’s expression turned vaguely apologetic.

“Ordinarily, I would agree with you,” she said. “This isn’t standard procedure. Normally we would provide you with identities and a proper cover, but we believe some of our targets may have the resources to crack cover stories. This is a last-minute arrangement, but as it requires far less fabrication on our end, it is safer. It may not grant you much access, but there’s every chance that their perception of a married or newlywed couple as honest, or naïve, or just distracted, will put you outside suspicion.”

 _She means they suspect someone is leaking operations intel to the cartels,_ Obi-Wan sent, accompanied with the sense of a frustrated groan.

Qui-Gon gave him a tight nod. “Who else knows of this arrangement?”

“Apart from myself, only the Senator,” Madleth told them.

Qui-Gon nodded. _I suppose that’s as secure as we’re going to get,_ he sent.

“All right,” Obi-Wan agreed on a sigh. “We’ll plan accordingly.”

“Very good.” Madleth tipped her head. “I believe we’ve covered almost everything on my side. You have the intel, and you have the ident cards and tickets, all the paperwork required for the cruise. Maybe you won the tickets in some raffle or competition, or you’re a relatively wealthy couple enjoying a bit of time off—the details you can work out on your own.”

“Of course,” Qui-Gon agreed. “Our thanks.”

They took a few moments to familiarise themselves with the shuttle, then bid Lady Madleth good day and ventured quietly back down the Temple halls. As if by mutual agreement, they wound up back at Qui-Gon’s quarters, and Obi-Wan instantly vanished into the kitchen to make tea.

“Force bless you, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon sighed, following him a moment later and sliding into the ell of the kitchen counter. “One cup was not enough for this.”

Obi-Wan laughed, though it sounded somewhat forced. “Not quite how I expected to be working with you again.”

Qui-Gon saw him dart a glance in his direction and look away just as quickly. “It’s not an easy cover,” he agreed gently. “I… the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable, Obi-Wan. I think, given the situation, if you wanted to take it up with the Council—”

“No!” Obi-Wan nearly jumped, the look on his face momentarily approaching real worry. Then, of course, it turned into that wry, teasing grin Qui-Gon knew and loved. “There’s really no telling what kind of trouble you’ll get yourself into, Master mine.”

“Oh, now that’s unfair,” Qui-Gon protested, laughing. “I’ve previously held myself together for a few decades, I’ll have you know, Knight Kenobi.”

“Yes, of course. Only _just_ held together,” Obi-Wan retorted, at ease again and taking down the cups and tea from the cupboards.

Qui-Gon shook his head. “Where would I be without you,” he sighed, not even half-joking anymore.

Obi-Wan’s hands froze over the cups, but Qui-Gon had moved to take over the tea-making process anyway. Obi-Wan was giving him an odd look, almost speculative. “What is it?”

“We should, er,” Obi-Wan cleared his throat awkwardly. He seemed uncharacteristically nervous. “We’ll have to, well, act the part,” he said. “We should discuss what sort of contact we’re comfortable with,” he got out in a rush, “or—something.”

Ah. Part of Qui-Gon suddenly wanted to remain deliberately obtuse, but Obi-Wan deserved the better part of him. “Married, right. I suppose that means we’ll have to stay close together much of the time. Then again, it depends on how discreet of a couple you’d prefer to play.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “On a cruise? That’s something reserved for special occasions—honeymoons or holidays, especially anniversaries. It would be odd if there weren’t some contact. How comfortable are you with public displays—casual touches, for instance?”

As if to demonstrate, Obi-Wan moved in and pressed up against Qui-Gon’s side, arm settling around his waist. Almost as an afterthought, Qui-Gon lifted his own arm and—after a half-second of hesitation—draped across Obi-Wan’s shoulders. Obi-Wan settled against him like he belonged there. It was barely a movement at all, unhurried and comfortable, as if they’d done this a thousand times, and yet Qui-Gon couldn’t recall for his life when his Padawan had ever stayed so close for something that wasn’t a gesture of comfort.

Qui-Gon hoped he’d retained enough control not to flush. “That’s all right,” he said, and congratulated himself on the even tone of voice.

He was being ridiculous. Obi-Wan was no longer his Padawan, and Qui-Gon could certainly trust the man to let him know when he had taken things too far.

“We should keep the bond open between us,” Qui-Gon said. “If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable—”

“I’ll let you know,” Obi-Wan agreed, glancing up at him with a faint smile.

Obi-Wan’s face was so open in that moment, lit from within with a kind of peace Qui-Gon had no idea how to achieve, with his heart racing as it was from a simple touch. Qui-Gon, helplessly, leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the other man’s temple. “That all right?” he asked softly.

“Perfect, Kai,” Obi-Wan said. Qui-Gon could hear that wicked grin in his voice, and that reassured him more than anything.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With many thanks to skyywalkerfen (jessebee) for giving this a once-over <3  
> Happy May the Fourth, everybody!

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks as always to Meggory and Skyy for the beta ❤️


End file.
